


Never Mine To Lose

by shakespeare_dyke



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, Folklore, Memories, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeare_dyke/pseuds/shakespeare_dyke
Summary: Marianne reflects back on her time with Hèloïse, remembering their love story.Inspired by Taylor Swift's "August"
Relationships: Héloïse & Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Kudos: 24





	Never Mine To Lose

_you weren’t mine to lose_

She was never mine to lose. I know that now. Not because of the betrothal, although of course that added a layer of complication. She was never mine because she could never belong to anyone. Her wild could never be contained. I close my eyes and see her running, almost to the edge of the cliff and the feeling of my heart flying to my throat, her running into the sea after stripping off her dress, not knowing if she could swim until she tried it. Hèloïse wasn’t mine or anyone else’s, but solely her own. She belonged to salt air and music and fire and wind. The idea that I could even capture her in a painting is almost laughable, a weak imitation of her spirit.

_i can see us lost in the memory_

I still get lost in the memories. Even now, in my studio class, a girl takes out that portrait, and it’s like I’m there again. Looking at the painting takes me back to the beach and the fire that night. The night she looked at me, hazy through smoke, and I knew she wanted to kiss me. Neither of us dared, then. But that was the moment I knew. It wasn’t supposed to happen, this was supposed to be a job, a paycheck. Not love.

_never have i ever before_

The next morning, the wind and the cave. Our first kiss. Gazing into her eyes, green as sea glass, for so long it seemed like hours. I needed to make sure she wanted it too. Hèloïse had never done this before. If I was wrong… And then as if we read each other’s minds, leaning in all at once, tasting each other, breathing each other, before she pulled away and ran back to the house. At the time I was crushed; now I see plainly how scared she was. Not without reason. But love without fear is meaningless.

_i can see us twisted in bedsheets_

Our first kiss was beautiful and tender, but our second kiss was exquisite. She pressed her body against my back and wrapped her palm around my face, caressing me, turning me towards her. We melted together and fell onto the bed. It was her first time making love -- with a woman or at all. I whispered, “Are you sure?” I intended to be slow and gentle, the way another woman had been with me my first time, but Hèloïse stopped me with a fiery look and asked me why I was treating her like a doll. She grabbed my hand and pulled it to her breast, accidentally scratching the skin with my fingernail. She inhaled sharply at the sudden unexpected roughness, and I almost pulled away before I realized it was a breath of pleasure in the pain. So instead I leaned in closer and added my lips, my tongue, my teeth. Her breath became ragged, interlaced with soft moans and whimpers. She drew my hand between her legs, whispering, “If you don’t touch me now…” I didn’t hear the end of her threat; I didn’t need convincing. The bedsheets tangled around my legs as I kissed my way down her body.

_back when we were living for the hope of it all_

Is there anything more intimate than waking up next to your lover, skin against skin, arm wrapped tight around them? We tried to slow down time, rubbing herbal ointments on the softest parts of our skin to absorb them better. I can still feel the goosebumps from her touch under my arm. My head was spinning and then we were flying. It felt like time couldn’t touch us there, like we truly could have hope for some fantastical future where we could run away, just the two of us, or stay on this island forever. No mothers or fiancés or gallery managers. But the hope that someday, it could be different.

  
_august slipped away like a bottle of wine_

Of course, despite our best efforts, time passed, and before we realized it, our oasis had ended. Like drinking around the table only to realize the bottle is empty, we woke up to a man in our kitchen. The mirage shattered in an instant. My nightmares, the haunting of Hèloïse in the wedding dress, come true. She was never mine to lose. I knew that, even then. And yet. It didn’t make it easier. I think on some level I had hoped that wanting might be enough--that I could wish something strongly enough for it to come true. But if that were possible, then Orpheus would never have lost Eurydice. It was easier to pretend it was our choice; she ordered me to turn back and I did. I watched her disappear, watched the wine pour into the dirt, watched summer slip away.

She was never mine. But we still have the memories, and I still have the portrait, and she still has the book. Someday we will be remembered; our love will be passed on.


End file.
